An Ode

You've heard it before; I know I'm not the first.

Everyone wants to take a bite out of you. You're coveted around the world, and seem to be in many places at the same time. In several countries, you appear rather brittle, dry, easily shattered. It's your fragile side, I believe, that makes you act this way. You hide your deep chocolate undertones, preferring to give them all a few fleeting tastes of long-lost chips.

I don't very much enjoy you in those places. If I were to meet you in one single place in the world, it would be in my kitchen. I'm more of the intimate, almost timid kind, you see. I'd rather we kept our dealings to ourselves--nobody else has to know about us. I know you probably have this type of arrangement with many others, but I don't mind: I can share at times.

Just promise me one thing: when we do meet, I want you to be all I've ever wanted you to be. I want to feel your warmth, your friendliness. I like to see the real you, multifaceted, always hiding something. From the outside, you're smooth or bumpy, I don't really have a preference this time around. You know best. I'm sure you remember I enjoy how diaphanous you are, letting your true self show through. Beneath the paleness lies a treasure trove of suave boldness, unassuming yet noble: your dark side.

Constantly conflicting deep inside yourself; bittersweet chocolate tries to take the stage, but must be resigned to sharing the spotlight with the brown sugar comfort of hardly-baked dough. That is what I like the most. You yield easily, putting up a false fight with a tiny crunch on your outside. Softness follows, a comforting texture with an array of tastes. In one bite, sweetness takes over, only to be debased by the power of a good chocolate chunk in the next bite. By chance, I come across the perfect mouthful: dough and chocolate come together in a perfect alliance, the marriage dreams are made of.

Why do you always leave so soon, though? Is it something I did, something I said? You know I'm faithful, but I can only wish there were several of you. As strong as your flavor explosion may be, it remains evanescent. I can't seem to recapture our moment once you've departed. 

Your gracefulness, your charm, your perfect balance of power and abandonment...chocolate chip cookie, if I were a French king, you would be my favorite.

(PS: I found a new way to make you which is really pretty awesome. Lips sealed, though. Until next time, at least.)